


Gone

by Comicbooklovergreen



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, Kidnapping, Multi, OT3, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Stalking, Stegginelli, based on a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicbooklovergreen/pseuds/Comicbooklovergreen
Summary: Steve and Peggy always worried it would be one of their enemies, someone from their pasts, who could put Angie and the rest of their family in danger. They were wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a Tumblr prompt that I've tried to do for a long, long, long time. Not putting it in the 'Three's' fic that houses most prompts because I couldn't keep it to a oneshot. It's based loosely on the Stegginelli 'verse I've set up, but it's also it's own thing, separate from the 'canon' of that 'verse. Basically (because some of this is covered in crossover fics that not everyone may have read), Lizzie Rogers is Angie's child with Steve. Jacob Rogers is Peggy's child with Steve. To the world, they are living together in a step-parent situation. And Angie's found fame as the lead in a Broadway adaptation of Peter Pan. These things carry over from the stuff I've been writing recently, but ultimately this is it's own story, separate from those.
> 
> It's been so long that the person who made the original ask (which I very much twisted and interpreted my own way) might not be in the fandom anymore. But those of you who are still here, I'd love comments on this story in particular since it's not my usual genre. Please and thank you :)

Angie let her arm be swung back and forth as Lizzie gripped her hand and happily recapped every moment of the movie they’d just seen. Maybe she shouldn’t have stopped at the bakery after, given the four-year-old that last bit of sugar.

What the hell? You only lived once, and her baby teeth would go anyway. And for once Lizzie wasn’t complaining about Jake.  She was, in fact, begging for a stop at the park.

“It’s dark out,” Angie said, squeezing Lizzie’s hand a bit tighter as she jumped and squirmed.

“I know that!” Lizzie rolled her eyes at the sky. “They’ll be less people then, no lines for the swings.”

Angie smiled at the admittedly sound logic. “Another day, munchkin. This one’s been plenty long already.”

Lizzie huffed loudly. “We have to go home ‘cause of Jacob, don’t we?”

Well, nothing good lasted forever. “We have to go home because it’s time to go home. And yes, we have to take care of your brother.”

“Do not. Ana and Mr. Jarvis can take care of him. They like taking care of him.”

Lizzie might’ve said that the couple liked getting their teeth pulled.

“You know what they like even better?”

“Huh?”

“Going home and not having to take care of him anymore.”

Lizzie huffed again. “I wish we could do that.”

“Don’t pout,” Angie warned. “We had a nice day together, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Lizzie said, almost grudgingly. “Can we go to the park tomorrow?”

“Soon. Mommy or daddy can take you when they get back.”

“But not Jake. Jake’s too small to slide or swing or do monkey bars, or anything fun.”

“Yes, yes he is.” She’d let Lizzie be smug about that if it kept the peace. They were about to cross the street. Angie was halfway through her usual warning about holding hands tight and staying close (Lizzie was liable to attempt an escape if something caught her interest), when a voice caught her attention.

“Ange! Hey Ange, that you?”

Not a fan then. Every so often, someone would approach her, recognize her, especially after _Peter Pan_ , but those people would call her Miss Martin, not ‘Ange.’

Still holding Lizzie’s hand, Angie turned to see a tall man with dark hair jogging under the streetlights to catch up with them. Something pulled at the back of her mind and Angie wondered if she shouldn’t have taken Fancy up on his offer/plea to drive them back. Peg and Steve wouldn’t like that she hadn’t. Angie stepped slightly in front of Lizzie, for no reason she could pinpoint.

The man stopped in front of them, grinning. “I knew it! Knew that was my girl Angie. Like anyone could forget you, huh?”

The accent was the same one she’d heard her entire life, the one she’d worked so hard to lose when necessary. “Arturo?” she asked, squinting a bit. He was thinner than she remembered. She’d last seen him in a blurred photo with the rest of his unit. His mother had shown it to her mother who’d shown it to her.

The smile widened. “Hey, Angie! It’s so good to see you!”

His teeth weren’t what she remembered. He might’ve chipped or lost a few. And his nose was crooked now, like someone had finally done a proper job of busting it. There was more stubble too, but the face was essentially the same one she’d seen since tenth grade, when puberty finished with him. “Arturo.” She returned his smile, relaxed. “God, it’s been forever.”

“Not quite, but long enough. Feels like it, right? Look at you, huh? You’re beautiful.”

“She’s not your girl,” Lizzie said suddenly. “She’s my mama.”

They both looked down at Lizzie, who spoke with more curiosity than anything else. Angie had barely noticed his words, honestly. He and half the boys she grew up with had said similar things since she hit puberty. Arturo kept smiling, bent at the waist. “Of course she is, bambina. I was just teasing. Your mama, and you’re beautiful just like her. Ange, how come I’ve only seen this kid in the paper?”

“Lizzie, this is Arturo. He used to live near Nonna and Nonno. Your older uncles and I grew up with him.”

“You were little together?” Lizzie asked.

“We were,” Arturo said. “Just as little as you once, Elizabetta.”

“I’m Lizzie,” she corrected. “Lizzie Rogers.”

Angie thought she saw a flash of something in the dim light, a look on Arturo’s face she didn’t remember from childhood. She blinked and it was gone, maybe never there at all as he straightened up, the old smile back in place. “What are you doing out here, Arturo?”

“Arturo,” he repeated. “What happened to Artie, hmm? You sound like my mother about to get me with that wooden spoon again. I was just doing some shopping. How ‘bout you gorgeous girls?”

No bags. He wasn’t carrying anything. Lizzie spoke before Angie could.

“Mama took me for a movie and cannolis, ‘cause I’m a big girl and Jake’s not and Jake doesn’t get to go.”

“Jake?”

“Jake’s my stupid brother.”

“Lizzie,” Angie said out of habit. If he’d seen Lizzie in the papers, he would’ve seen Jacob a few months earlier.

‘Half-brother, you mean.”

Angie tensed. That was the story, of course. But the way Artie said it…

Lizzie shrugged. “He’s just stupid Jakey, and he can’t go to the movies ‘cause he’s little and boring.”

“What about driving a big old truck?” Artie asked. “Is he too little for that?” Artie pointed a little way down the street to a red pickup parked nearby.

“Yes,” Lizzie said with a giggle. “And me too.”

“Who says?”

“The guy who invented physics,” said Angie. “And me. “

“Oh come on, Ange. This thing’s practically new, I gotta show it off to someone. And how else am I gonna get two gorgeous gals in my car with me?”

“Like I told you in’42, Artie, that’s your problem.”

“Ouch. You wound me, Miss Martin. This how you treat all your adoring fans?”

She sensed it again, something ugly beneath the teasing. She was more aware than ever that she hadn’t seen him since before he shipped out with her father, brother, and everyone else. “Sorry, Artie. It’s just late and this one’s already getting fussy.”

“I’m not fussy!” Lizzie said, stamping her foot.

“Well, let me give you a ride then,” said Artie. “You’ll be home that much faster, and we can catch up on the way.”

“That’s sweet, but we’re good, really.”

“Ange, come on. What kinda guy would I be if I let you and the princess here hoof it home, in the dark?”

“I’ve done it plenty of times before, Artie.”

“Because you had to. Well, you don’t have to anymore. Besides, big star like you deserves a chariot and a chauffeur.”

“That’s what cabs are for.”

The sky opened up then, seemingly out of nowhere. Thunder first, and then rain. Big, heavy droplets that pelted them and made Lizzie shriek.

“In this?” Artie asked, talking louder over the noise. “Come on, Ange, the kid’ll freeze.”

She wanted to say that Lizzie rarely got sick. She wanted to say a lot of things. Mostly she wanted to go back and tell Fancy yes, she’d love that ride home.

“At least let her wait it out inside, huh?” He gestured at the truck. “You guys can stay warm while I get you a cab. What do you say, little one?”

“Mama, I want to drive the truck!”

Angie studied him. He was different, but everyone came back different, including Papa and her brother. If his eyes weren’t the same, they were close enough, carried the same affection they always had. And even if Lizzie rarely got sick, it wasn’t good form to risk it, risk illness herself. The last thing she needed was to lose her voice, not with her next show just around the corner.

Anyway, this was Artie. He’d never so much as shoved her when they were kids, which was more than she could say for any of the other boys, including her brothers. And paranoia tended to rise when you lived with Steve and Peggy.

Except that Angie had learned to trust her gut, and her gut was churning. And Peggy’s voice in her head, the voice that taught her all that self-defense stuff, was telling her no, telling her something was rotten.

She’d known Artie longer, but she trusted Peggy much, much more, and she was about to act her way out of this, make the final excuse and get Lizzie away, away from those alarm bells blaring loud over the storm.

Except she fucked it up.

She waited too long and Artie said something about his new truck having toys in it and Lizzie, sometimes stronger than she had any right to be, broke away from Angie’s hold and went running to the truck, splashing water behind. She ignored Angie’s call and Artie followed, opening the driver’s side door and lifting her in with feigned effort that made her giggle. Angie’s heel slipped on the pavement and by the time she got there Artie had already shut the door on Lizzie, pocketing the keys without starting the truck.

“Arturo,” she said, wishing her feet worked as fast as her heart was now.

“What’s wrong, Ange?” He leaned on the door casually, the same bad posture Angie had seen for years. His body blocked the door handle.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping the kid warm.”

“Artie…”

Screaming. There was always screaming, but they were the only ones on the street. Who would hear over the rain and be fast enough to do anything? And Lizzie was in his car. Peg had taught her things though, useful things. If only she’d practiced them as much as she’d practiced William fucking Shakespeare.

“Let me give you a ride. We’ll talk, catch up, like old times.”

“I don’t want a ride, Artie. Will you let her out of there, please?”

Artie sighed loudly enough to be heard above the rain. “Why do you always gotta make everything so complicated, Angie? I didn’t want complicated.”

He straightened just enough to shift his coat, let her see the revolver tucked against his waist. Angie froze.

“Get in the truck, Angie, please.” His voice was soft, He’d been one of the quieter ones when they were young.

“Arturo…”

“Get in, Angie. Please don’t make me ask you again.”

“And if I don’t?” Angie asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “You going to shoot me?”

“No, Angie. Of course not.”

Lizzie made a noise like a horn as she pretended to steer the truck.

“You wouldn’t, Artie, she’s a baby. Younger than we were when you moved to the neighborhood. You’re not going to hurt a baby.”

“I’m not gonna want to,” he corrected. “I did lots of things over there that I didn’t wanna do, Ange, but I didn’t have a choice. Now get in the fucking truck. Don’t make me do something else I don’t feel like doing.”

Angie took a breath and went to the passenger side. When she tried to open the door, he stopped her and she flinched.

“Whoa, easy,” Artie said. “Calm down, m’lady. Let me be a gentleman here.”

He opened the door for her and smiled like he expected her reciprocate. He held out a hand to boost her up into the truck, which she couldn’t risk declining, not with Lizzie and that pistol. He squeezed her fingers as she got in and it was all Angie could do not to pull away. She might’ve been able to do that wrist thing Peggy taught her, might’ve risked it even with the gun.

“Mama look, I’m driving!” Lizzie turned the wheel dramatically, made engine sounds.

Angie couldn’t risk it.

“Look at you!” Artie praised. He stood in front of the open passenger door, blocking Angie in. “Where you driving us to, bambina?”

Lizzie frowned, tapped her hand on the wheel like Angie had done a hundred times. “Loss Angeles!” she said finally.

Artie laughed. “L.A., huh? You gonna be a big star like your mama?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Maybe later. I want to go to Uncle Howard’s first. He’s got koalas and birdies with pretty colors and flamingos. Mr. Jarvis doesn’t like the flamingos.”

“Does he have lions and tigers and bears too?”

“He’s got a baby tiger and a baby lion. I don’t know about bears.”

“Well, how ‘bout instead of going all the way to California, we go to my house?”

“Why?” Lizzie asked, looking around the cab. “You said there were toys in here. I don’t see any toys.”

“Ah, but I didn’t say they were toys for you, did I? Excuse me, beautiful.”

He touched Angie’s thigh, leaned in close. Confused as she was, Angie still would’ve hit him if not for the gun in his coat, and, more importantly, Lizzie. He reached down into the footwell and picked up a small bag she hadn’t noticed before. Peggy would be so mad. Steve too. She was supposed to notice everything in situations like this.

“What?” said Artie, smiling. “Told you I went shopping. Didn’t believe me?”

“Why would I ever think you were anything but honest, Artie?”

He rummaged in the bag, still far too close to her, pulled out items to show Lizzie. A little rubber bone. A ball that squeaked. A small bag with a dog on the front.

“Can you guess what these are for, little miss?” Artie asked, putting each item back after showing it.

“You have a puppy?” Lizzie asked, letting go of the wheel and practically bouncing in her seat.

“I do! Such a smart girl, just like your mama.

“She won’t let me have a puppy. We only got stupid Jakey instead, and he can’t even do any tricks.”

“Oh, poor tesoro,” he said in that mockingly good-natured way Angie used to kind of like. “Well, I’m sure your mama wouldn’t mind if you came and visited my puppy for awhile.”

“Oh, Mama, Mama, can we go? We have to go, Mama!”

“You heard the gal in the driver’s seat, Ange.”

He was too close to her. This cab was too close, too small. She could grab for his coat but not without risking Lizzie. “Sure. We can have a quick visit.

Artie clapped his hands together, hard. “Hear that, Elizabetta? Tuo mammina says you can go for a ride."

“It’s almost bedtime??” Lizzie said, making it a question. Clearly she hadn’t expected to get her way this easily.

Artie waved his hand. “You’re a big girl, aren’t you? You know what the best thing is about being a big girl?”

Lizzie shook her head.

“Sometimes if you’re very, very lucky and very good, bedtime gets changed. Right, Angie?”

Angie swallowed hard, hoped Artie didn’t notice. “It’s okay, baby. Just this once, bedtime’s postponed. And we’ll be home soon. Won’t we, Artie?”

“Si, si. Ah, a special adventure with Zio Artie. Won’t that be fun, bambina?”

Artie seemed genuinely pleased as he slammed the passenger door on Angie. Circling around to the other side, he opened Lizzie’s door.

“No car seat,” Angie said, knew it wouldn’t matter.

“You want to be my co-pilot, bambina, help me steer?”

“Yes!” Lizzie said, nearly yelled.

“She can sit with me,” said Angie.

“Nonsense,” Artie said, voice easy. “I need a co-pilot, and she volunteered.”

Angie watched helplessly as Artie situated Lizzie in his lap. Lizzie who squirmed and bounced against him. Angie told her to hold still, very aware of the pistol tucked in Artie’s coat.

“Relax, Ange, I got it covered.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Ma still hasn’t forgiven you for our mailbox.”

“I got better since then. We got it covered, don’t we, bambina?”

“Yeah, Mama, we got it covered.”

She was supposed to laugh at that. She made herself laugh at that as Artie turned the keys in the ignition and positioned Lizzie’s hands on the wheel. And then they were driving away. Away from any sort of safety, headed God knew where.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out she did have an idea. As Artie drove on and she used every acting skill she had to make small talk and be normal with him, Angie realized they were going home. Not home to her son, to Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis, to the army of SHIELD agents a phone call away who could deal with this, but her other home.

“Are we going to visit Nonna and Nonno?” Lizzie asked.

Angie was slightly surprised that Lizzie could recognize the neighborhood, as young as she was and this late at night. She wondered about Steve’s serum-enhanced memory, if it was passed on.

Steve, helping set up a field office for SHIELD, Angie wasn’t sure exactly where. Peggy visiting some friend from her pre-SSR, codebreaking days who was visiting the city.

They were gone. Not far, but they might as well be on another continent. But this neighborhood, she knew this neighborhood, these people. Her parents were close. She could work with this.

“That where we’re going, Artie, to see the old stomping grounds?”

“If they’re still good enough for you.”

“Say again?”

“Never mind.”

“Mama! Can we visit Nonna?”

“Maybe later,” Artie said before she could.

“Hold still, Lizzie,” Angie said, firmer than before. Lizzie was too used to Steve, to treating every adult like a jungle gym. Artie still had that gun in his coat.

"I still can't believe you named her Elizabeth Rogers," Artie made a face, stifling his accent as he said her name so it came out completely bland, almost mockingly American.

"I like the name."

"There's no Italian in it," Artie gestured as he drove, his free hand next to Lizzie’s much smaller one on the wheel. “Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised, hmm?”

"What's that supposed to mean?" Angie couldn't help the snap in her voice, despite trying to keep her cool.

"Presenting Miss Angela Martin, world class actress, America’s very American sweetheart,” Artie announced in that same bland tone, before switching back to his normal voice. “World class actress, world class sellout.”

“Is that so?”

“Course it’s so. Look what you’ve done to your name, to this pretty little girl’s name.” Artie poked Lizzie in the side, made her giggle. "You, Missy miss, should be Elizabetta or Isobella Martinelli," He tilted his head in consideration, "or Calabrese."

Angie swallowed hard, "Calabrese?"

"Well, that's what both our mamas were sure of."

“Our mamas said a lot of things. We ignored most of them, if you remember.”

"Yeah, and look how well that turned out for us, eh? Usually with a sore behind. Always listen to your mama, Lizzie. Mama's always know best for their babies."

“Daddy says Mama and Mommy are boss, always listen to them.”

As they passed under a streetlight, Angie saw one of Artie’s hands squeezing harder at the wheel, just above where Lizzie’s smaller fingers were.

“I’m sure he says a lot of things.”

“I like being co-pilot. Daddy and Uncle Howard are real pilots. They can fly real planes and everything.”

“Is it really flying when you crash the plane into the ocean?” Artie poked her side again and Lizzie laughed.

“He meant to do that!” she said, repeating the excuse Steve had uttered countless times. “He did it just like he wanted.”

The scowl forming on Artie’s face told Angie it was past time Lizzie stopped mentioning her father. “You coulda called, you know, Artie,” Angie said, letting her New York accent through more than she usually did these days. “Coulda fixed you a nice supper in a warm house instead of you catching me out in a flood, lookin like a drowned rat.”

"How'm I sposta get a girl's number these days when she's pretending she's somebody she's not, probably won't talk to any of the old group?"

“I’m here for Sunday dinner at least once a month. I talk to plenty of the old group.”

“Once a month,” he repeated, scoffing. “What would your ma have said ten years ago if you told her you were stopping by once a month, gracing her with your presence?”

“Artie..”

“Plenty of the old group, huh? So I guess it’s just me you don’t talk to. The divine Miss Martin can’t be seen with the Calabrese kid.”

"Don't be like that, Artie. Like you said, how our mamas were, she'd have written my number for you and made you a full dinner to go with. Name's just a name anyway."

“Names are names. They define you.”

“Nah, actions define you, what you do.” Like him kidnaping her child. “Anyway,” she said, forcing herself back to a calm she didn’t feel, “the camps, the way people felt about us during the war, after…” She trailed off.

“You change your name ‘cause of the camps, but you never spent any time in them.”

“And you did?” Angie asked, ignoring that ugliness in his laugh. She had only vague details of where he’d been, what he’d done.

"Only reason I went military was to get out of them. Came back, went right back in one until the war was over. Assholes."

“Bad word!” Lizzie said with a giggle, then promptly repeated it.

“Sorry, bambina, I really should watch my words,” he said, almost absently. “Don’t want your mama mad at me.”

“Ain’t me you have to worry about.” She was long past being mad. “Ma’ll kill you if she catches you corrupting her precious, firstborn grandbaby.”

It was embarrassing, how much Angie wanted her mother right now. And the carving knife her mother was so fond of.

“Little corruption on one ain’t the worst. She’ll have enough coming to her with all your siblings.” He paused, turning his head long enough to look at her. “This little one even know them?”

Angie slipped again, let some of the frustration bleed through the façade. “She knows her family, Arturo. Of course she does.”

“Girl denies her name, who’s to say she won’t deny her family too?”

“Not this girl.”

Artie shrugged. “If you say so.”

He kept skirting the edges of the old neighborhood, Angie noticed, taking roundabout ways, making turns that weren’t necessary, like he was losing a tail that wasn’t there to start with. There weren’t many cars out anyway, but Lizzie waved at every one they passed and pretended to beep the horn. When she did this, Artie’s hands would press over hers. Stopping her from actually doing it, Angie figured, bringing unwanted attention. He laughed and made honking sounds with her and Angie felt sick every time those hands covered Lizzie’s. But he seemed calm enough, light, even as he insulted her, so Angie made herself match him.

"If you think that badly of me, what's with the night drive? Don't you have other good, proper Italian girls to get in your pickup?”

“They ain’t you. And what’s a drive for old time’s sake? You used to be a good, proper Italian girl.”

Clearly he hadn’t been paying attention, even twenty years ago. “So what am I now, do you think?”

"A bit of a traitor, someone who's bowed down to people we're above, and given her life away for no return. But that's fixable."

“Gee, Artie. You sure do know how to make a gal feel warm and fuzzy about herself.”

“Let’s face it, your life choices ain’t exactly been spectacular.”

“Didn’t know my life choices mattered so much to you.”

“You always matter to me. Always have, always will, even with what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing?”

“Throwing it all away. Your life, your culture, your heritage. Everything that makes you special. Breaking your papa and mama’s hearts.”

“I talked to Pop last week. Only thing he mentioned breaking his heart was Ma putting him on another diet.”

"His only granddaughter being illegitimate, you think that doesn’t tear at him? Not having an Italian name, or even his last name?” Artie clicked his tongue as if chastising a child. “She even baptized?”

“As a matter of fact, she is.”

“In our church? ‘Cause I don’t see you at Sunday services anymore. Not even Christmas Mass.”

“We switched churches.”

“You mean you had to make due with whichever one would take you, after what you did.”

“I suppose that’s a way to look at it. And what about it, Artie, what I did? Breaking everything, everyone, throwing it all away. Are you planning to fix it, fix me?”

“Maybe,” he said with that sly smile that used to mean they were going to sneak out and search for trouble. It used to amuse her. Now it just made her sick.

“I want to see the puppy!” Lizzie declared, impatient.

“You will soon,” Artie said. “Anything else you want?”

Lizzie tilted her head, twisted in his lap to look at him. “Ice cream?” she asked, testing.

“Yeah? Bet we could manage that.”

“She already had dessert,” Angie argued, in spite of everything, their situation. Some things had to stay normal, or appear to.

“Yeah? What’d you have?”

“Canolis,” Lizzie admitted. “They were yummy.”

“Really?” Artie glanced at Angie. “Did you remember for a minute that you used to be Italian?”

“She’s not having more sugar, Artie, she won’t sleep tonight.”

“Oh relax, we’ll handle her. What’s the point of kids if you can’t spoil them sometimes?”

“Keeping them from rotting their teeth out, for one. I remember how many you got pulled,” she said, trying to remind him of when they were young, that she hadn’t changed that much.

“Eh, come on. One time can’t hurt, not with what I read about her father. Guy comes back to life like that, bit of sugar ain’t gonna hurt his kid.”

“Yeah well, everything we’ve seen, she takes mostly after me.”

“Really. She looks just like Mr. Boy Scout himself, from here.”

The ugliness was back in his voice. Not enough for Lizzie to notice, Angie thought, but there. She didn’t want them talking about Steve “She got my personality.”

“Which one? Public, private, or the one no one gets to see?”

“The loudmouth one.”

Artie chuckled. “So, not the one everyone gets to see then.”

“I suppose not.”

“Always hiding away from the world, being only what people want you to be, what you think looks best.”

“Everyone does that, Artie. Sunday morning church us didn’t look much like Saturday night us.”

“That was common courtesy, behaving. Not me being too ashamed of myself to show who I really am.”

They weren’t going home, Angie realized, not exactly. This neighborhood was close, but rougher at the edges, more rundown. They were told not to stray this far when they were kids. Artie pulled up in front of a small house that had seen better days.

“That’s one way to look at it,” Angie said, trying to memorize everything around her as quickly as possible. Landmarks were important, Peggy always said. Landmarks, signs, anything. He’d taken too many turns in the dark, confused her and kept her talking, distracted. She didn’t know exactly where they were. “This your place?” she asked, trying to stall him.

“Not the old one, but it’s what I have. Come on, Elizabetta, let’s see what sweets we can scrounge up.”

“And see the puppy?”

“Of course. She’ll love meeting you.”

“I can carry her, Artie,” Angie said, tried keeping the desperation from her voice.

Artie waved that off, smiled. “I got her. You can grab the puppy stuff, if you like.”

He was out of the truck before she could argue, door slammed and carrying Lizzie with him.

Angie took the bag from beneath her feet, rushed after them as Lizzie laughed and caught raindrops on her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr. Hit me up with prompts or just stop in to say hi.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last fic post for the year, folks. Show an author some love to ring in 2018 right, pretty please :)
> 
> There’s some implied mistreatment of animals here, but I love animals more than people much of the time, so nothing horrible or graphic is allowed to happen. As for the human characters…who knows?

“Home sweet home,” Artie said a few moment later as he let them in. “All right, all right, calm, Elizabetta.” He set Lizzie down, then turned on a light as she immediately went about exploring the place.

It was as small as it looked on the outside, but Angie saw stairs leading up to a second floor. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, and nothing on the walls that she could see. Spartan, Peggy would say. And Peggy would tell her to find every exit as soon as possible, so Angie tried. The kitchen was just off the living room and small, no back door. Not many windows, and those that were there were nailed shut. The only exit Angie could immediately see was the front door.

Which Artie had just locked behind them.

“So,” he said brightly. “Who wants ice cream?”

“Puppy first,” Lizzie said, in that impatient, slightly grating way she said things sometimes.

“Lizzie.” Angie dropped the bag without looking where, crossed to Lizzie as fast as she could without being obvious about it. Pulling Lizzie to her, Angie breathed the smallest sigh of relief at having physical contact with her daughter again. Not much at all in this situation, but it was something. “We’re guests in Artie’s house. Be nice.”

Artie laughed. “Oh come on, Ange, she’s home now and she’s excited, let her alone.”

Him calling this place home sent a fresh wave of dread coursing through her.

“Sorry, Mama.” Lizzie didn’t sound sorry at all. “But can we please, please, _please_ see the puppy?”

“Yeah, Ange.” Artie advanced on them, slowly. “Please, please, please?” His words were much more measured than Lizzie’s, and each repetition brought him a little closer. He was smiling still. “What do you say?”

Angie kept Lizzie held against her, not the easiest feat. “You tell me, Artie. Your show, you’re in charge.”

This seemed to please him. “Yes indeed. But it ain’t a show, Ange. For once in your life, you ain’t doing something fake.” He held her gaze for a moment, then made his tone significantly brighter. “Okay, who wants to see the pup?”

“Meeeee!” Lizzie yelled, drawing the syllable out.

“Well follow me, little miss, you’re in for a treat.”

He walked to a small hallway off the stairs, lined with several closed doors. These walls were bare too, with peeling wallpaper.  Angie kept farther behind than Lizzie wanted, and she cursed whatever strength their child might have inherited from Steve as Lizzie struggled to keep up with Artie.

Angie would not have Lizzie in Artie’s arms again. She wouldn’t.

He paused at one of the doors, turned back to see the two of them lagging. “Well, don’t you want to see?”

“Yes!” Lizzie said.

Artie smiled, his hand tapping casually at the doorknob. “Whatcha waiting on, doll? The great Miss Martin need an engraved invitation?”

“Waiting on you, Artie. Bring the little guy out here.” She didn’t know what was behind that door, but she had flashes of Artie slamming it on them, locking them in with him, even farther from the front door, from safety.

“C’mere and see for yourself, Ange.”

It was absurd, like one of their childhood games. One of the other kids saying they had something neat to show her and then opening their hands to reveal a bug or something else disgusting. Not that Artie ever played that game with her. Actually, she was more likely to pull the trick on him. Her brother would laugh at her ability to trick another boy. Artie usually laughed too, but she didn’t remember the ugliness in his smile that she saw now.

“What’s the matter? Scared, Ange?”

“You want me to be, Artie?”

“Why would I try to scare you?”

“You’re doing a lot of things I wouldn’t have expected.”

Artie rolled his eyes. “Now see, this is why we gotta get you straightened out, Ange. You don’t know how things work no more. You don’t even know who your real pals are.”

“Don’t I?”

He chuckled, turned the doorknob, revealing a tiny bathroom. Leaving them in the hall, he turned the light on and whistled from the side of his mouth. “Wake up, pooch, I brought a new pal for you.”

Angie was surprised to hear a noise coming from the bathtub, something scratching against it. Artie knelt down, his back to them. He’d removed his jacket when they came in. Angie couldn’t see the gun from this angle, but assumed he still had it tucked under his clothes somewhere. She’d seen Peggy pull enough weapons off of God knew where on her body.

When Artie turned around, he held a tiny beagle pup in his hands. Lizzie shrieked and wriggled from Angie’s hold for the second time that night, but Artie didn’t scoop her up this time. He put the dog in her arms, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Mama, Mama look, look at it! Is it a boy puppy or a girl puppy?”

“Girl, of course,” said Artie. “For my two favorite girls.”

“Mama, look, she’s a girl and she’s so pretty!”

“I see, baby. Keep your voice down and be gentle, okay? We don’t want to scare her.”

The poor thing already looked scared. She shook a bit in Lizzie’s arms, and when Artie muttered something under his breath about piss in the tub, Angie got a pretty good idea of how the dog was being treated. She looked thin, even for a baby.

“What’s her name?” Lizzie asked, blissfully oblivious.

“You know, I’m not sure yet, haven’t found one that suits her. Hey!” he said as if the thought had just come to him. “Would you like to name her?”

Lizzie positively beamed. “Anything I want?”

“Sure.”

Lizzie looked down at the puppy with a sort of loving frown, as if making the biggest decision of her life. “Minnie!” she said finally, triumphant.

“Minnie?” Artie repeated.

“Like Minnie Mouse, silly. ‘Cause she’s pretty and little.”

Artie slapped his forehead dramatically. “Of course! That is an excellent name, bambina. Why don’t we get back to the living room and Zio Artie will get you some ice cream while you play with Minnie?”

Lizzie was more than amenable to that idea and cradled the pup carefully in her arms as she went back down the hall.

“You never liked dogs as a kid,” Angie said quietly. She stood still with Artie, could see Lizzie sit on the floor with the pup.

“Got my first batch of stitches from one. Would you?” Artie asked. “The Krauts used them too, shepherds. Goddamn Nazi dog almost tore my leg off once.”

“Then why have one?”

“All little girls love puppies, right?”

He’d gotten a dog just to get his hands on her child. “Beagle’s a popular dog. Must’ve set you back some.”

He laughed. “Beagle-terrier mix. She’s a half-breed, and a runt to boot. Toys and food cost more than the little bitch itself.”

“Charming,” Angie drawled, couldn’t help it.

“What? You cussed with the best of us when we were kids. Or is Angela Martin too good for common people words like that now?”

Angie bit her tongue, hard. “Maybe we should go see about that ice cream.”

“Maybe so. Don’t want to keep our little bambina waiting.”

Our.

Angie swallowed back bile as she followed him to the living room.

Minnie seemed to be calming. She sniffed at the little bone Lizzie had taken from Artie’s bag of pet supplies. Lizzie held it in her hand and Minnie licked it, then licked Lizzie’s fingers. Hesitantly, as if she didn’t know what she’d get in return.

Lizzie giggled in delight and ran her fingers over the puppy’s head. “Mama, she likes me, she gives kisses!”

“That’s great, baby,” Angie said, holding a smile.as she followed Artie into the little kitchen.

“Who wouldn’t like you, huh?” Artie asked, pulling open the small freezer.

There wasn’t much room to maneuver, especially with the foldout card table and two chairs taking up room in one corner. Angie hung stuck close to Artie, closer than she wanted to as he set a carton on the counter and reached into a cabinet. She had no special reason to think he’d drug Lizzie, and no reason to think he wouldn’t. She used to be a waitress, she knew how easy it was to mess with food.

“This is a nice place, Artie,” she said, trying to watch his movements with the ice cream and look for a knife rack at the same time. Nothing jumped out at her, but if she could find any piece of silverware with a sharp edge, stash it away…

“It ain’t the old place, but it works. Only thing I could get once I got home, out of the camp. Mama was gone by then.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I came to the service.”

“I heard.” He smiled at her. “It was good of you to come, real good. That’s the kinda thing you used to do, what made you special.”

Angie said nothing, nearly jumped at the noise from Lizzie squeezing one of Minnie’s toys, making it squeak.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Blue discharge because I’m a fuc—because I’m Italian and obviously a traitor.” Artie shrugged. “What the rest of us get for serving our country, but I made it work.”

“The rest of us?”

“The ones who ain’t Captain America. He gets parades and comics and monuments, the rest of us get blue slips of scrap paper ‘cause we’re all traitors.”

“People throw the traitor word out a lot.” Artie certainly was with her.

“Some people deserve it, some don’t.”

“What’ve you been up to since you got back?”

“Trying to survive, same as every other soldier not singled out to be special.”

He took a spoon from one of the drawers, too fast for Angie to see if it held anything sharper. She memorized the drawer’s location anyway. If she was lucky, if she had any time later, on her own…

Peggy would’ve found at least twenty things in this room to use as a weapon. She’d have that gun off Artie in no time flat, then Peggy would hold her and Lizzie and call them darling and take them out of here, and Steve would snap Artie in half.

“Hope you like strawberry, Elizabetta.” Artie brought the ice cream into the living room, set it down on the floor in front of her. Lizzie grinned and went for the spoon, but Artie grabbed it up first, held it out of her reach. “What do good girls say when they get ice cream _and_ a new friend to play with?”

“Thank you,” Lizzie replied.

“Thank you what?”

Lizzie frowned, gave Angie a confused look.

Artie clicked his tongue but smiled. “Thank you Zio Artie.”

“Oh,” Lizzie said, then repeated it when seconds passed without him passing over the spoon.

Artie handed it to her then. “Good job, Elizabetta, that’s just right. For now.”

Lizzie didn’t seem to hear Artie’s last words. Angie did.

Artie stood and gestured at the sofa, told Angie to come sit. She did, ignoring how Lizzie was openly sharing her ice cream with the dog.  She sat as far from him as she could without being obvious about it, which wasn’t far at all. Then he told Lizzie stories from when they were kids, stories Lizzie was obviously not listening to, too enamored with Minnie. Angie joined in anyway, wanting to stay on his good side, struggling to remember details under all the fear.

Improv, she told herself. It was just improv, nothing more.

When Lizzie was covered in pink goop and Minnie had done her best to lick the bowl clean, Artie asked how she’d liked the ice cream, called her Elizabetta.

“It was yummy. My name’s Lizzie though.”

Angie tensed. Artie chuckled.

“Nah, you’re a beautiful Elizabetta. So much better than Lizzie,” he said, Americanizing the name to the worst extent.

“I like being Lizzie,” the girl argued, small hands rubbing at Minnie’s back while the dog licked at her face.

“That’s because you don’t know any better.”

“I know plenty things. I’m not dumb.”

“Elizabeth,” Angie said, a warning.

“Of course you’re not dumb. But Elizabetta is a pretty, proud Italian name.”

“Lizzie’s a pretty name too.”

“Lizzie’s a name for a bastard.”

“Hey,” Angie said, couldn’t help it. “Don’t Artie.”

“What?” Artie asked. He slipped an arm around her shoulders on the sofa.

Angie kept herself from flinching, barely, as his thumb traced over her shoulder. “You know what.”

“Nah, honey, I’m just a poor, dumb grunt of a soldier. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“That’s a bad word,” Lizzie said, accusing now.

 “Oh yeah? Who says?” Artie asked, teasing.

“Mommy and Daddy and Nonna. Everyone. I’m not supposed to listen to people who use that word.”

“How come?”

“’Cause it’s mean and they’re dumb.”

Angie was sitting much closer to Artie than she wanted, felt him tense up. “Artie,” she tried.

“Dumb, huh? Do you even know what that word means?”

Lizzie stuck out her lower lip, clutched Minnie to her. “It’s a mean word,” she said stubbornly.

“It just means your parents aren’t married.”

“Oh,” Lizzie said, puzzled as she looked at Angie. “I guess I am a bastard then.”

“See?” Artie said, tapping a finger to his forehead. “Can’t call other people dumb unless you’re sure you’re not the dumb one. Can’t look down on people unless you’re sure you’re looking at them proper. Elizabetta.”

“You’re not a bastard,” Angie said. “Not the way Artie means it.”

Artie’s fingers splayed out against her shoulder, came together to squeeze gently. “No? And how does Zio Artie mean it?”

The addition wasn’t lost on her, nor was the controlled strength in his grip. Without his jacket she had a better idea of his body, his build. He wasn’t thin, not the way she first thought. He was lean, wiry, and he could squeeze her shoulder much harder than he was right now. Angie thought unwillingly of the dog. Curled up to Lizzie now, but she’d been spooked before.

Reaching up, Angie covered his hand on her shoulder without removing it. “Why don’t we talk about it somewhere else? We could use a bit of alone time, don’t you think?”

“What’s wrong, Ange?” he asked, voice mild. “Don’t want to tell in front of the kid how you whored yourself out, sold out for a nice house and a couple bucks?”

“Stop, Artie.” She pulled her hand back from his, but he caught it, held on.

“What? She doesn’t know what I’m saying anymore than the dog does.”

“I know what whored means,” Lizzie said, cheerful.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Angie said. His grip on her wrist was firm, just south of painful.

“Whored means Dottie,” Lizzie said.

Angie closed her eyes. She really needed to pay more attention to when and how loudly she brought up Dottie Underwood.

Artie’s hold loosened. He laughed, almost the one she remembered from years ago. “Who the hell is Dottie?” he asked, the first time he spoke to Lizzie with interest that wasn’t feigned.

“She works for Mommy and Daddy. She’s a Commynist and a whore.”

Artie’s laugh was uproarious. He smacked his knee. “Jesus, Ange, this girl might be yours after all.”

“Maybe so,” Angie drawled. She’d take the Commie whore right now, dignity be damned. Dottie would surely find some creatively brutal ways to stop that damned guffawing.

“Jesus,” Artie said again, wiping at his eyes and standing up. “Okay so, maybe the grownups do need some alone time. Shall we?”

He held out his hand the same way he had when helping her into the truck. Angie made herself take it, stood. “Mama’s going to talk to Zio Artie for a bit, alright? You and Minnie behave yourselves, I’ll be right back. Okay?”

Lizzie barely nodded as she rolled a ball across the floor for the puppy.

“Alright then, doll,” Artie said, flashing that smile that made her stomach churn and squeezing her hand. “Let’s you and me have a talk.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr. Hit me up with prompts or just stop in to say hi.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks. My reward for going home for Christmas was the gift of stomach flu from my stepdad. Might not seem like it, but reviews really do speed things along, I promise. Zillion thanks to everyone who's been leaving them.

Artie kept hold of her hand as he led her up the stairs. It was rough, calloused. Angie counted the steps as they walked, entertained thoughts of pushing him down on the return trip.

He led her to his bedroom, such as it was. A dresser, a metal trunk that looked like something Steve had in the back of their garage, a bed with blanket and pillow on the floor next to it.

“Figures, huh?” Artie let her hand go, shut the door behind them. “Spend months rotting away in those shithole camps dreamin of a real bed, get home and I can’t use one.”

“No?”

“Sleep on dirt or concrete long enough, a mattress feels like shit. Like you’re sleepin on nothin, gonna sink into quicksand. For us regular guys, anyway. Guessing Elizabetta’s dear ol’ dad don’t have that problem.”

He did, actually. Sometimes he or Peggy still wound up sleeping on the floor. Which only made this worse. “You really want to talk about Steve, Artie?”

There was a click, the door locking. Artie turned around as Angie was wondering about that trunk, whether it contained anything useful.

“No. But you took the choice away, didn’t you?”

He’d kidnapped her and she was the one taking choices. “Did I?”

“You had the bastard with him.”

“Stop,” Angie said, more fiercely now that Lizzie was out of immediate danger. “Just stop.”

“What? Calling her what she is?”

“An hour ago she was smart and beautiful,” Angie said, recalling all the sweet words he’d used on Lizzie.

“Thought names were just names. Bastard’s just a name, a word. If it bugs you so much, let’s fix it.”

“Fix it,” Angie repeated.

“The kid deserves a good name, a good family.”

“And who are you to say she doesn’t have that?”

“The whole fucking world knows she doesn’t have that. And so do you, or you wouldn’t be so touchy. Names matter, reputation matters.”

“I’m the one hiding out from the world, yet you’re the one so concerned with my reputation, what other people think.”

“Someone has to be, since you’ve screwed it so completely.”

“And you’re going to fix it?”

“Someone has to. Kid deserves better, at least.”

“You said. What’s that mean, exactly?”

“Proper name, to start, someone to claim her.”

“She has that.”

“ _Proper_ name, I said, and someone who’s worth something to claim her.”

“She has that,” Angie repeated, staring him down.

“She's the Irish bastard of a man who's only claim to fame is being experimented on, and an Italian too ashamed to claim her heritage. Rogers is a freakshow made to prance around and sell war bonds. War’s over, he’s just there to sell papers, and the kid’s in on it now. And you, you’re so hungry for the spotlight you’ve let him take advantage of both of you, and you don’t even know. Didn’t I always tell you you’d hit it big on your own?”

“Yeah, and I did.”

“You didn’t, not really. People don’t see your skill, your talent. They see the girl who fucked a lab experiment to get fame. You could’ve won on your own, but you got lazy, took the quick way instead of paying your dues.”

“Did I really? Sorry to be such a disappointment.”

His eyes narrowed briefly, then softened. “I know you’re not, and that’s okay right now. We can fix—”

“Stop Christ, Artie, just stop saying that, please.”

His eyes flashed. “Stop, stop, shut up, Artie,” he said, mocking. “Stop talking about the bastard, because her mama can’t stand a little truth. He weakened you, you know that? He’s a weakling who got all his strength from a bottle. Everything’s for show with him, and it rubbed off on you.”

“I might be a little stronger than you think.”

“Not now you’re not. Right now you’re just a coward, ashamed of who she is and what she created.”

“I’ve never for one second been ashamed of my daughter.”

“Uh-huh. Your child. Elizabeth Rogers.” He stretched the name out again, made it as bland as possible.

“Giving her her father’s last name is me being ashamed?”

“You trying to hide what she is, yeah. If you were that ashamed, why not do something about it?”

“Like what?”

“Marry. Someone without a fiancé of his own, who isn’t using you and the girl to sell papers, keep people from noticing he ain’t needed anymore.”

Angie stared. “Someone.”

“Our mamas always said it would happen.”

Well. That confirmed he was batshit crazy, if she’d still needed it. “You’ve got a funny way of courting, Artie.”

“Desperate times. You’ll see. Once you’re not a mistress anymore, a third wheel to people who don’t care about you, you’ll see. You were the freakshow’s second choice until he could have the Carter bitch back. You’re not second choice material, you never have been. Not to me.”

“And what, you’re going to just disappear us? Lizzie’s Steve’s daughter, Artie, whether you like it or not. She’ll be looked for.”

“They have their own kid now, they’ll move on.”

“No, Artie, they won’t. That isn’t how it’s going to work. You don’t know them like I do; you don’t know what you’re doing. If you take this any further—”

Artie was on her then, so fast. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. Not as hard as he could, she thought, but hard enough for the door to rattle and waves of pain to travel up her spine. The small of her back hit the doorknob, digging into it. She put up her hands to do, something, surely Peggy had taught her what to do here, but he was too quick, grabbing both her wrists, squeezing.

“Don’t do that, alright? Not you.” It started off as a growl, grew progressively louder. “Those Nazi fucks, those bastards in the Army, our Army? Everyone talked down to me like I was nothin but a piece of dumb Italian trash. Not you, you understand? You got famous now and you learned to say a bunch of pretty words without sounding like who you are, but you are not above me, Ange.”

“Didn’t say I was. Artie, I’m not, I didn’t say that.” Her heart was too fast, too loud. Steve and Peggy both had done things like this to her, separately and otherwise. It was much more controlled and much more consenting in their hands.

“Then don’t act like it!”

“I’m not, Artie, I promise. We’re the same, like you said, we grew up the same.”

Artie was breathing hard. The pulse in Angie’s wrist beat quick under his thumb. It was raining still, pouring outside. Angie barely heard it over his breath too close to her, the pounding in her ears that wanted to overtake everything.

“Mama? I taught Minnie a trick!”

Angie heard that, as if she were back in her own house, safe, and Lizzie had yelled across it every night for the last few years. It wasn’t a scared yell, not yet. That was something anyway.

“Mama! C’mere!”

That was closer to scared. Not there yet, but getting. Artie’s hands were too tight on her wrists, his eyes clouded. She’d seen that look before, in Steve and Peggy mostly, but others too. That look that meant they were hyperaware, tracking every little thing, but seeing nothing. Peggy usually got that way when the ‘bloody wanker idiots’ started blowing off fireworks days before July 4th. She’d pushed Angie down once, during a particularly bad episode, pushed her down to shield her from dangers that weren’t there. Angie broke a perfectly good coffee mug that day, nearly scalded herself, and almost had a heart attack.

God she missed Peggy. What would Peggy do? Peggy would find his weakness and exploit it.

“Mama!”

Peggy would do anything to protect their child, that’s what Peggy would do. And Artie wasn’t exactly hiding his weakness.

“What the hell, Artie?” she asked, raising her voice and letting the New York accent through all the way.

He blinked at her, hard. “Wha—”

She might get shot or strangled in the next few seconds. She really hoped not. She made herself sound like her mother, like his. “Get the bricks outta your head. Right now. I have a baby to check on.”

He blinked again, his grip loosening.

“Mama! Come back!”

Angie did the wrist thing Peg had made her practice with Steve, wriggled one of her hands free while his hold was loose. The doorknob was still digging into her spine. She ignored it. “You’re scaring her, Arturo. You scare her and she’ll cry worse than Marco and we’ll never get her to stop.”

Marco was one of her younger brothers, born in ’38. But if she guessed right and Artie hadn’t really seen her family since before the camps, before whatever twisted him up, then Marco would’ve been about the age Lizzie was now when they last spoke.

Artie blinked, over and over. “Kid should learn not to interrupt.”

The voice was different. Softer, a little dazed. “She’s four, and if she were really interrupting, she’d be trying to bust that door down, not yelling from downstairs. She’s a baby and she scared and you ain’t helping it.”

Artie stared at her, his mouth slightly open. He released his grip on her other hand. He backed off some.

Scowling, Angie straightened so she was no longer pressed into the door, rubbed at one wrist with the other. “You _hurt_ me, Artie, hurt us. Is that what you want?”

“What? No, Ange, for Christ’s sake—”

“Then quit it.”

“I, you’re shaking.”

She was, now he mentioned, tiny trembles wracking her frame. Damn. She made a noise, disgusted and dismissive.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” His eyes ran over her body. “Shoulda got you dry clothes right away. I don’t notice things the same way sometimes, since I got back. Sorry, Ange.”

She hadn’t either, honestly, though if she survived this she’d probably catch something. Lizzie never seemed to get sick, not since she was a baby anyway. Lizzie would be fine.

Angie had to be fine, had to survive it. For her.

“Fine, Arturo, whatever.” Her voice was lower now, a different version of her mother’s. “I got a kid to check on. You come find us when you got the bricks out of your head.”

She half-expected her father’s voice as she turned, turned the doorknob to pop the lock open. Half-expected Angelo Martinelli’s muttered apologies and pleas for forgiveness. She expected Artie to grab her and slam her into a wall again.

Angie opened the door and went to the landing. Nothing happened.

Lizzie was waiting for her at the bottom, holding a squirming Minnie in her hands. “Mama, you didn’t come!”

“Yes I did, baby, I’m right here. I’m right here. What’s wrong, huh?”

“You were yelling,”

She heard Artie’s steps behind her when she was halfway down the stairs, ignored them. “Oh baby, we’re Italians, we always yell.”

“Minnie doesn’t like it! And I can’t hold Minnie and come upstairs too, she won’t hold still!”

“You don’t need to be carrying Minnie upstairs,” Angie said, not unkindly. “You remember what happened to Mommy’s favorite tea set?” Angie knelt down, put her arms around Lizzie. “Everything’s okay, honey, I promise.”

“Mommy’s tea set was an accident, I told you.”

“I know, baby.”

“I want Mommy.”

Shit. That was her fault, bringing up Peggy. “You’ll see her soon, Lizzie.”

Artie’s steps came closer. He stopped next to her. “Someone’s fussy,” he said, sounding almost like the person she’d known.

“She’s had a long day.”

Artie nodded. “Bedtime, you think?”

Lizzie looked between them, eyes narrowed. “Nuh-uh. I can’t have bedtime here.”

“Sure you can,” Artie said, that cheerfulness used to lure her into his truck back in his voice. “Don’t you ever have sleepovers?”

“Not here,” Lizzie said, stubborn. “Mama—”

“Don’t you want to curl up with Minnie?” Artie asked before Angie could speak. “She needs a buddy, or she might get scared during the storm,” he added as the rain lashed the windows outside. “It’s her first one, you know.”

Lizzie looked down at the puppy, up at Angie. “Mama?”

Angie closed her eyes for as long as she thought she could get away with it, searching for calm. “We’re going to stay here tonight, okay sweetheart?”

Lizzie’s eyes were wide, confused. “What about Jacob?”

Lizzie knew Angie was never late getting back to Jacob. She whined about it constantly. “He’s with Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis, baby, he’s fine.”

“But you said they like going home so they don’t have to take care of him anymore. You said.”

She had indeed. Fuck. “They won’t mind just this one night.”

“But you said Jakey—”

“I thought Jakey was just your stupid, boring brother,” said Artie.

“He is,” Lizzie said, clearly unsure. “But—”

“Lizzie,” Angie said, desperate to get her attention before she frustrated Artie again. “We’re going to stay here tonight, baby, it’s okay.”

Lizzie stared at her, then looked up at Artie. “You yelled at my Mama!”

Artie actually flinched at that, made a face Angie couldn’t read but knew she didn’t like. “We’re Italians,” Angie said again. “Your uncle Angelo yells at me all the time, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Why don’t you show me that trick, huh? You said you taught Minnie a trick, let me see.”

There was no trick, not that Angie could see. Something to do with Minnie and a ball she was supposed to hit with her nose, though the execution failed. She cheered anyway, grateful when Artie kept his trap shut.

Lizzie did not fight her on bedtime, another small miracle. Maybe. She’d gone mostly quiet, studying Artie with an intensity Angie was pretty sure he didn’t like, and Angie definitely didn’t.

The bathroom where he’d kept Minnie locked up smelled like a bathroom where an untrained pup was kept. Artie took them back upstairs to a second bathroom. He left them briefly, not enough time for Angie to do anything useful, came back with a pile of secondhand clothes in roughly her size.

“You look beautiful in anything,” he said. “Don’t need those fancy dresses you wear at the Tony’s.”

When Angie took them without saying anything, he added that they’d get her something nicer soon, go shopping ‘once things settled.’

Beneath her clothes was a small white shirt with Artie’s initials sewn into it. Her mother’s handiwork, Angie knew right away. Everyone on their block was poor as hell, and decent school clothes were made, not bought.

“See?” he told Lizzie. “Your nonna and I are real close.” He wasn’t so good at picking out little girls clothes, he admitted, but this would do for now, to sleep in.

He was using Sofia Martinelli to manipulate Lizzie, and it made Angie sick.

She smiled through it, told him she needed to help Lizzie wash up and change clothes, sent Lizzie into the bathroom. He stared at her a long moment, caught her arm before she could leave.

“Don’t screw around, Angie.”

“I’m not. I’m trying to wipe the ice cream and cannoli crumbs off my kid’s face,” she said, meeting his eyes. “And I’d like to change clothes without givin a free show. Is that a problem?”

He watched her, let go of her arm. “Don’t screw around,” he repeated.

When the door was shut, Angie rushed Lizzie through what bedtime routine she could, told her no, she didn’t have to take a bath tonight, tonight was special. Artie’s shirt was small in her hands but a little big on Lizzie. Angie left the water running after washing Lizzie’s face, looked through the medicine cabinet as quietly as possible. Searching for extra toothbrushes, she told Lizzie.

No razors, nothing easily concealable for her to use.

Artie was leaning on the wall, waiting for them when they finished. He brought them to a spare room only slightly less bare than his own. This one had a small bed on a metal frame, a flowery comforter Angie swore had been in the Calabrese house twenty years ago. On top of that was a patterned quilt. Again, Angie recognized her mother’s stitching. There was a tiny nightstand next to the bed, a lamp that was turned on.

Lizzie spoke for the first time in awhile when she asked for Minnie. Artie smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. He left and then returned with a shoebox. Angie could hear Minnie inside before she saw her.

“You good?” he asked.

“Perfect,” she said, working very, very hard to keep the sarcasm from her voice

He nodded, looked at Lizzie. “You gonna say goodnight to Zio Artie?”

Lizzie looked at him, at Angie. “Mama? Olly olly, or Jerry?”

“What?” Artie said, voice sharpening a bit for the first time since he’d pinned her to the wall.

“Say goodnight to Zio Artie,” Angie said. “She’s four and she should’ve been in bed ages ago,” she told Artie. “She rambles worse than Big Eddie after he’s drank too much when she’s like this.”

Angie squeezed Lizzie’s hand, prayed she wouldn’t argue. She didn’t.

Artie watched them a moment more. “Don’t be long,” he said finally. “Goodnight, Elizabetta.”

“G’night,” Lizzie mumbled, staring at the ground where Minne’s box lay.

Angie let herself breathe only after he’d shut the door. The floorboards in the hall creaked, she could hear him moving away, for now. He’d switched off the main light but the lamp next to the bed was still on.

“Okay, baby doll. Let’s get you all tucked up and warm under Nonna’s blanket, huh?”

“Minnie too?”

“Of course.”

She talked of nothing as she got Lizzie under the covers, set the dog next to her. If there were messes, she’d deal with them in the morning. Couldn’t be any worse than the mess they were already in. Turning the lamp off made her nervous, and she berated herself for that, silently.

“Mama? Olly olly, or Jerry?

Angie sighed, laying down next to Lizzie. “My smart, smart girl,” she breathed, pulling Lizzie to her.

Peggy and Steve always said something bad could happen, that Angie and Lizzie might need to move, act, without asking questions. Angie could do that, had done that when the SSR busted into her room looking for Peggy. Teaching a child the same thing, not so easy. Olly, olly was Steve’s invention, a reference to the children’s game. Olly olly oxen free meant it was safe to come out. Jerry was _Tom and Jerry_. Jerry was hide like the cartoon mouse until it was safe again. Steve had coached her again and again. Obviously it worked.

“You’re not Jerry right now,” Angie murmured because she didn’t have an answer. Lizzie couldn’t just run and hide from Artie, at least not yet. And now Lizzie was scared and knew something was wrong and no matter what happened after this, Angie would never forgive herself for letting it happen. “Why don’t you just be my baby for awhile, okay? Be Mama’s baby girl?”

She’d been sulking since Jacob was born, reminding them that _she_ was the baby first and still was a baby, and she should get as much attention and cuddles as Jake got, and it wasn’t fair.

Jesus, what if Angie never saw Jacob again?

Lizzie snuggled closer against Angie, small arms holding her tight. She jumped at a loud thunderclap and the dog whimpered.

“Shh, shh, hey. It’s okay, baby, it’s just noise, it can’t hurt you, it can’t hurt us.”

“I want Mommy and Daddy.”

“I know, I know. We’ll see them soon. Why don’t I sing to you, huh? We haven’t done that in awhile.”

“Okay.”

“Which one do you want to hear?”

“Dumbo.”

Angie smiled a little. She might’ve known. The movie was before Lizzie’s tine, but Howard had a projector and access to every film ever made. They had the music on an LP at the house.

Angie cleared her throat, did her best not to remember that the scene this was taken from involved a mother in a cage separated from her child. “Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine.”

She forgot an entire section as she went through it, but Lizzie didn’t notice or didn’t mention. She sang the song twice, hands combing through Lizzie’s hair, and she still forgot an entire section. Steve would remember, Steve’s memory was ridiculous.

She whispered to Lizzie that she loved her, when she was sure Lizzie was sleeping. She should’ve said it when Lizzie could hear. Would have, normally, but she didn’t trust her voice to hold steady, didn’t trust herself not to cry. It was hard enough singing past the choking lump in her throat.

Angie lay still afterward, held Lizzie as tight as she could be, considering. If she could just keep Lizzie safe, just long enough.

Angie closed her eyes, found she couldn’t stand to do so. She opened them. A floorboard creaked. Angie held her breath, but Lizzie didn’t wake. A light was on in the hallway. That floorboard creaked again.

She could see the shadows from Artie’s feet filtering in through the crack at the bottom of the door. . She held Lizzie tighter and shook in the dry clothes Artie had given her.

* * *

 Peggy was confused at seeing the Jarvis’ car still in the drive. Perhaps Jacob had been difficult and they were worn out, staying the night.

She heard Jacob before she saw him. His cries echoed as she entered the house. Feeling rather like a drowned rat, Peggy shrugged off her coat in the entryway and followed the shrieks.

It was good to be home, even with the noise. She’d enjoyed seeing her friend from the codebreaking days (lord what a simpler time), but she’d missed Angie the children.

Ana Jarvis was pacing the living room with her son, murmuring quiet things Peggy couldn’t hear over the noise. She looked more frazzled than usual, more affected by the sounds.

“Hello, hello.” Peggy crossed to Ana, carefully took Jacob. “What’s all this then, hmm?”

“Peggy,” Ana said quietly, absent her usual bright smile.

“You and your poor husband are still here?” Peggy asked, rubbing Jacob’s back. “God, is the princess having another tantrum?” Lizzie had been starved for affection lately, from all of them, behaving as though she were positively neglected. Perhaps Angie’s night with her had gone too long and she’d turned cranky. “Shall I risk going up there and providing backup?”

She assumed Angie and Lizzie were upstairs somewhere, arguing over bedtime and how Lizzie was expected to sleep with Jacob’s screaming. She assumed, and then realized Ana Jarvis wasn’t meeting her eyes.

“Ana? What’s wrong?” she asked, sounding much more like Director Carter than she usually did with her friend.

“I, I’m afraid I don’t know, Peggy.”

Didn’t know? Peggy was about to repeat herself when she heard feet on the stairs, followed by Mr. Jarvis’s voice. He was talking before he realized she was there.

“No word from Mrs. Martinelli, none that I could understand, at any rate. I’m afraid we’ll have to—” He turned, saw her, lost color in his face. “Ah, Miss Carter. I didn’t realize you’d returned.”

“Mr. Jarvis. What is going on around here? Why were you contacting my mother-in-law?”

“I, yes. I’m afraid I had to use the phone in your study. My apologies, but hearing down here was—”

She waved him off, or would have if she wasn’t holding Jacob. Ana came to her, took him back. “Mr. Jarvis. Why are you calling Angie’s mother?”

It was his turn not to look her in the eye. “I was checking to see if Miss Martinelli and Miss Elizabeth hadn’t stopped there for the night, Miss Carter.”

“For the…” Peggy’s mind felt uncharacteristically, painfully sluggish. “Mr. Jarvis, are you saying that Angie and Lizzie aren’t here right now?”

He looked at her, with clear effort. “I’m afraid not, Miss Carter.” He shook his head. “That is to say, yes, yes that is what I’m saying.”

Thunder cracked outside. Every muscle in Peggy’s body went tight, then threatened to give. She remained perfectly upright, still, thankful Ana had taken Jacob from her. “Mr. Jarvis. If my wife and my child aren’t here right now, where are they?”

“I’m, I’m sorry, Miss Carter.”

Jacob shrieked again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr. Hit me up with prompts or just stop in to say hi.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr. Hit me up with prompts or just stop in to say hi.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


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